Examine all the weddings round,
See which are rotten, which are sound
You'll find the first, when through you've gone,
Rather resemble two to one.
Then is that state a state of bliss
Where one shall hit and two shall miss?

Why, among laws, was one forgot,
That would untie the marriage knot?
Prevent three evils at one view,
As scolding, fighting, killing too?

Of wedlock, let us say or sing,
For this with man's a weighty thing.
Of all the bargains in his life
The most uncertain is a wife.
The prospect may look fair enough,
But who can judge without a proof?
Shou'd he succeed in this grand test,
Of all good bargains this is best.

When the reverse becomes his state,
Can he be more distress'd by fate?
While other contracts which he'll share,
Compar'd to this but trifles are,
Which if he prudently attend to,
He easily may put an end to;
By marriage only must abide,
Because no law sets it aside.
The chain is fix'd which links them fast,
A chain which must for ever last;
But rests with them what sort to chuse,
Whether they'll silk or iron use;
For the chief springs that cause the strife
Arise from either man or wife.
Their quarrels usually begin
From nothing, feather, straw, or pin;
While some deplorable I see,
Thank the kind stars that favour'd me.

This life affords, though but a span,
Rattles for every age of man;
Yet constancy he can't engage,
His rattles change in every stage;
For when ten years accomplish'd are,
He'll quit his book to see a fair;
But, turn'd of forty, if you'll look,
He'll quit the fair to read his book.

At one year old no dire alarms,
Then every thing we see has charms;
We long for all, for all are new,
And lie within a yard or two.

If we to seven years live by chance,
There opens then a wide expanse;
Delighted now with taw and ball,
Which three-score could not bear at all,
The scenes which rise all joyous go;
The spirits at that age o'erflow;
For, when we find the spirits high,
What trouble ever can annoy?
Retrench not liberty or food,
Whatever else that comes is good.
To offer your estate's absurd,
For whip, for hobby-horse, or bird.
Nor bond of fifty'll purchase quite
His flimzy but his lofty kite.
Rather than be depriv'd of play,
He'll throw your bond and deeds away.

Another view may now be had,
To twelve years old we'll raise the lad.
Fresh scenes arise from this great ball,
And pleasure issues from them all.
Misfortune has no business there,
Dips into every thing but care.
His play-things number by the score,
To twenty's added twenty more;
Which, like your candles, change about,
Some lighted up, while some go out;
And in those games he sought to learn
Now teaches others in his turn.

Two changes in our way are gone,
At twenty will a third come on.
He's now enlisted among men;
His fav'rite rattles change again;
And are, though multiplied the more,
Just as important as before.
Tippling and smoaking-- he's for both--
Gambling, with now and then an oath.
Powder and dress now intervene--
Then 'All for Love,' to change the scene.
'No pleasure's equal to the fair;
Felicity is center'd there;
And, contradict it if you can,
Woman herself was made for man;
And the chief happiness we view
Lies in the union of the two.
Every man, the world throughout,
Holds a degree of bliss, no doubt:
This must be doubled, free from care,
When lovely woman adds her share.
Who then would fool away this life
In solitude, without a wife,
When their united efforts are,
T'increase their joys, and banish care?
For pray what trouble can come nigh,
When, to oppose it, both shall try?
If man's philosophy can bear
Against those evils which come near,
United with his heart's delight
They'll quickly put them all to flight.'

Such weighty blessings in his eye,
Who can withstand the promis'd joy?
A scene now opens, and most clever,
Fill'd with more happiness than ever;
A wife is added to his store,
And what can mortal wish for more?
But one regret escapes his tongue,
'That he'd delay'd his bliss so long.'

Thus, while through life we make a pother,
We quit one bauble for another;
But with this diff'rence from the past,
We've now a bauble that will last.

Through every play-thing that we've gone,
A man may quit them all but one;
Others, like flimzy chattels, fail,
But she's a freehold with entail.

Let me record--Our loving pair
Can scarcely speak without--'My dear!'
Which indicates, it must be granted,
That marriage gives us what we wanted;
And that no state of bliss we try
Can ever raise us quite so high.

But, if a little time we wait,
Some small degree we must abate.
When Hymen's torch shall cease to burn,
Then Bet and Tom may serve their turn.
Nay, if we sink a peg at all,
Who then can tell how low we'll fall?
For Tom and Bet must now give place
To names which would my page disgrace.

The husband, in his wife, can spy
Faults which scape every other eye;
And, with a vengeance, charges free
Others that he himself can't see.
From bad to worse they quickly fall,
And soon they reach the worst of all.
He knows not how to treat a wife,
But plagues her, and himself, for life.
Detests the very name of bride.
'O that the knot could be unty'd!'

THE SECOND PART

A prudent wife is seldom had,
Because the husband makes her bad.
If you'd in happiness rejoice,
Then treasure up this short advice:
With gentle hand her errors cure,
And what you cannot mend, endure.

Where is the loving couple, pray,
Who never sport their bliss away?
When we with ease command a blessing,
It grows insipid by possessing;
This shews, that many a happy hour
We hold compleatly in our power;
But this gay season never lingers,
'Twill, like an eel, slip through our fingers,
And darting down the stream of time,
Leave nothing in our hands but slime.

Our former part was meant to say
What happiness we throw away.
A cross-grain'd husband plagues his wife;
They pull two ways, and both in strife
Keep lab'ring on, but without hope;
Yet there's no law to cut the rope,
And turn adrift th' ill-blended pair
To seek for happiness elsewhere.
It shews his gords are stupid still,
Except he change them when he will.
That wives alone, of all the range,
Are rattles which he cannot change.

T'illustrate these, we shall not fail
To bring a true and recent tale
Not from Jerusalem, I protest,
But Nottingham, upon the Forest.
Nor shall a Roman date be mine,
'Twas seventeen hundred forty-nine;
And William Martin, I'll engage,
The hero who shall tread the stage.

Drawing to'ards manhood, he began
To think himself a tightish man.
Among the passions of the breast,
Love seem'd to dawn among the rest;
Nor is it strange that love he'd got;
Where is the man who has it not!
Love, from his eye, quick sent a dart,
And lodg'd it in Miss Woolley's heart.
Yet, strange to tell, and yet 'tis true,
From that one dart another grew.
Cupid knew this, though he'd no eye,
And thought it should not idle lie.
He strung his bow; he took this dart,
And sent it into Martin's heart,
Thus assiduity will prove
The faithful minister of love.
For as a looking-glass procures
Another face exact like yours,
So, when fond love a heart shall strike,
'Twill, in another, raise its like.

When two kind folks to love are prone,
They cannot keep asunder long,
The happy moments robb'd from sleep
Our tender lovers often keep;
Nor could they even wish for more,
Much in possession--hope in store,
How enviable is their state,
'Tis only lovers can relate.

There's bounds of honour in our case
Which prudence will not let us pass;
Those bounds poor Martin and his fair
Forgot to keep with decent care;
From toying, loving thus, anon
It chanc'd a pregnancy came on.
Alarm succeeds, and sore dismay;
Martin resolv'd to run away.
A child half-form'd, to life unknown,
Could drive its father out of town.
The father, fearful of his race,
His infant offspring durst not face.
The future mother you might view
Distracted quite betwixt the two.
One half she lost, with her repose;
That which she kept she wish'd to lose.

O cruel world, unlike to heaven,
That one false step can't be forgiven!
Repentance pardon can't obtain,
Nor floods of tears wash out the stain;
For weakness no allowance made,
Nor strong temptations which invade.
Ill-fated woman! censur'd long
Through inward bias and a tongue.
But should the world abate a tittle,
Relax its scandal but a little,
And take the culprit into grace,
Smile, and give her a smiling face,
Two benefits would thence arise,
One please the good, and one the wise.
The fruits which come from stol'n embrace
Add much to our laborious race--
The whole would into life be led,
And not one half be knock'd o' th' head.

A man may run away, I grant
But, if his money should run scant,
He'd find that evil such a bar
As would prevent him running far.
This was Will Martin's case, I own
He stopp'd at Hinckley, quite broke down.
Then should not man some pity find,
When money's gone, and peace of mind?
If these two ills await his door,
We really think he needs no more.

He work'd and play'd with small content,
While many a Sunday came and went.
For who can act, that thinks he feels
A constable about his heels?

Of all the places where there's rest
He thought a Public-house was best
Because, should warrants come about,
There's one door in, another out.

While in the ale-house he was got,
Drinking, with company, his pot,
Where, with full freedom, they dispence
With every chat but that of sense,
A woman enter'd to the guests,
And modestly made these requests
'That her dear Man would quit his cup
As soon as he had drunk it up;
Would pay his shot, and with her come
To tend their infant flock at home.'

Not touch-wood to the fire applied,
Nor flint and steel to tinder dried;
Not joiner's shavings parch'd in June,
To which you put a candle soon;
Nor gin so fierce a flame will catch,
When you apply a lighted match,
As darted from the husband's eye;
It struck with fear the standers-by.
'Tis wonderful he made demur;
The flame should rather come from her;
For she had cause to be concern'd;
He spent the money which she earn'd.

Unite the thunder of a drum
With words that from a foul mouth come,
With fire above describ'd a little,
You'll see our husband to a tittle.
No reason could his vengeance check;
'He'd break her heart, or break her neck.
To rid his hand he would not fail,
He'd sell her for a quart of ale.'

'Your bargain I'll not disappoint,'
Cry'd Martin, 'I'll give you a pint.'

A contract of such magnitude
Requires some moments to conclude.
For wives, of all the goods we hold,
Ne'er come to market to be sold.
Neither could Martin, I declare,
Examine, as he would a mare;
For, in a market, we suppose
The buyer strips her of her clothes;
But Martin could not then begin
To scrutinize her wind and limb.

Hannah, desponding, sat in fears;
Her only language was--her tears.
Fair decency had mark'd her dress,
Dejected modesty her face;
And every soul alive could see
Some beauty in her face, but he,
Who, of all men, should see it first,
Should prudently that beauty nurs'd;
For if to her he'd acted kind,
He'd found returns to his own mind.
Which proves, to ev'ry one who tries,
That happiness within us lies.
But we want conduct how to use it,
We must destroy it, or abuse it.
It proves too, from the husband's tongue,
He'd kept his rattle much too long.
And what did most his mind derange,
It never could admit a change.

Whether the contract firm will set,
Or not, is most uncertain yet;
The husband, in his price, won't sink,
Nor Martin rise one drop of drink.
Hannah's in equilibrio,
Not knowing how the sale will go;
But, like a wife of prudent cast,
Shew'd strict obedience to the last.
She rather would adhere unto
The evils she already knew,
Than venture where the ills are sure,
Uncertain in their size and cure.
For let our state be ne'er so curst,
We always wish to know the worst.

The husband tried to raise the buyer;
Martin declar'd he'd go no higher.

The pint was order'd, bargain struck
And nothing back return'd for luck.
The parties of a halter thought,
But this they found would cost a groat.
The halter scheme was instant lost,
As being twice what Hannah cost.
For that same reason neither would
Pay four-pence that she might be toll'd.

While they consume the pint in strife,
The purchase of a prudent wife,
'Twas thought a deed would best avail,
T'insure the bargain and the sale;
For when a treaty is to last
'Tis needful we should make all fast.

An article they jointly draw,
Declaring rights in terms of law.
To all great treaties which are brought on,
There's lesser matters to be thought on:
To these 'tis needful that we look,
Like an appendix to a book,
Two lovely babes our pair had brought;
And lovely babes are worth a thought:
To other fathers they'd have charms;
One us'd its feet, and one in arms.
The first fell to the husband's care;
The last the mother could not spare;
Nay, both so hung about her heart,
As caus'd a bleeding wound to part.

'And will you sell me?' Hannah cries,
While in distress she wip'd her eyes,
'From madness will you ne'er recede?
Has this dear child no power to plead?
But infant cries were never known
To melt, like yours, a heart of stone.
The time will come when this you'll rue;
Repentance I shall leave to you.
My cruel pangs no tongue can tell!
Preserve my infant babe.--Farewell!'
THE THIRD PART

Why among laws was one forgot,
That would have tied the marriage knot;
Uniting in one happy hour
The gentle male and female flower?

What would the antients, think you, said,
To wives being sold two-pence a head?
Why, they'd conclude, as we are taught,
'The price being low, the goods are naught,'
Jacob, the Patriarch of old,
Purchas'd at no such price, we're told.
Seven tedious years were forc'd to pass,
Which only brought a blear-eyed lass;
And bound for seven long years again
Before another could obtain;
'And when to him they both were gone,'
Why, then he'd twice the plague of one.
T'asperse the girls I'm very loth,
But I think Hannah worth them both.
His treatment to his wives were kind;
To all their failings rather blind;
But our coarse husband, full of terrors,
Saw nothing in his wife but errors.

Of many virtues none could scan;
This is the random creature man!
The liquor drunk, the bargain made,
The wife deliver'd, money paid;
The husband pleas'd that he could part
From her who long had lost his heart;
Or, rather, none could she receive,
Because he ne'er had one to give.

Poor Hannah saw the idle tale
To pass through Hinckley would not fail
Nay, any town, from Thames to Soar,
Would gladly cuff it o'er and o'er.
It would, of her and child, be told,
They, like a cow and calf, were sold.
This Martin saw--they would not stay,
But would for Loughbro' shape their way.
Besides, repentance might come on,
And then poor Martin's pint was gone.

Celestial folks assemble strait,
And enter into close debate,
'Whether they can, by methods certain,
Assist poor Hannah and Will Martin.'
They soon determine on a plan
To serve them every way they can.

The night was dark--the world in bed--
All Hinckley in deep silence laid.
The cock brake early forth, and crew,
And sleepy Cinthia rose at two.
She instant quitted her abode,
To light our couple on the road.
But here, alas, as one that mourns,
She shew'd no part except her horns.
Her face was hid, and vex'd, as 't were,
Because she could not serve the pair;
For by the little light she shew'd
Our couple could not find their road.

Cinthia's design might only be
To let the surly husband see
The pattern of what horns to wear;
For he was making up a pair.

The folks celestial still observe them,
And find the moon too faint to serve them.
Aurora issued from her bed,
And grandly streak'd the heavens with red;
To Sol's groom call'd, he being in view,
'To harness quick, and then put to;
That Sol would not a moment stay,
But light our couple on the way:
For, as he'd often seen them both,
Was well acquainted with their worth.
That she, Aurora, points their course
Till Phœbus shines with brighter force.'

Our couple not a moment waste;
Young travellers set out in haste,
But losing breath, and weary soon,
Are apt to lag before 'tis noon.

Phœbus, to guide our couple, came,
Determin'd to do just the same.
He urg'd his coursers--whipp'd them still--
And gallop'd up the Eastern hill;
When, finding he was far from earth,
Then lagg'd, as they did, to get breath.

Our couple were not incommoded
With chattels, and yet both were loaded.
His right hand, empty, swang most kind
One swing before, and one behind.
Your pendulum the time can tell;
This hand could tell it just as well
And though it might the right leg shun,
Exactly with the left went on.
The centre of a hedge-stake press
On his left shoulder, with some stress;
His left hand pulling at the end on't;
The other end a bundle pendant;
While in his face the features smil'd,
And she trudg'd after with the child.

When two young folks together go,
Fifteen or twenty miles, or so,
And both good-natur'd seem to be,
Much of each other they may see;
And if to love they're both inclin'd,
They'll fathom each the other's mind.
Friendship and love they'll soon impart,
And creep into each other's heart.
This prov'd our happy couple's case,
Who ne'er before could bliss embrace;
As in the sex he never knew
How to select the bad from true;
So, when unsatisfied, the mind
To fix it seldom is inclin'd;
Like running waters, as they fall,
Salute each bank, but quit them all.

But now he found in Hannah more
Than all he look'd for long before:
'She, of the fair sex, was the best;
With her alone he'd fix his rest;'
Nor wish'd to change in small degree;
He lov'd the child as well as she.
For innocents, in every case,
Clasp round the heart with close embrace;
Except that heart like marble stands,
Then there's no hold for little hands.

Her state of bliss appear'd much more
Because she'd recently been lower.
She liv'd at ease, which brought surprize,
A new world open'd to her eyes.
For good she look'd, and look'd again,
In her first husband--but in vain.
To all choice fruits he seem'd a foe;
The soil was bad, they could not grow.
In Martin virtues found alone,
Which corresponded with her own.
Though man and wife, they act at will,
But find themselves the lovers still;
Nor ever yet appear'd to be
Sick of each other's company.
Then what need they abroad to roam
When both were better pleas'd at home?
Each to the other's failings blind,
They found all which they hop'd to find.
Material errors they avoid;
The lesser they knew how to hide;
Should but a little fault appear,
'Twas quite forgot--for she was there;
Should one with blemish mark a deed,
The other an excuse would plead.

To hear his foot when he'd been gone,
Was harmony of sweetest tone;
It banish'd every gloomy sigh,
And rais'd the joyous spirits high;
A welcome issued from her eyes,
Which he alone knew how to prize;
And should she ever hold forth long,
He never once said, 'Hold your tongue!'
For why should he attempt to stint
A tongue with so much music in 't?

Love can do all things with great ease,
Possessing every power to please.
For where the wish is well inclin'd,
The hand will rarely lag behind.
Between them went no jarring sound,
A perfect harmony was found.
Why, when so near to bliss alloy'd
Could not the marriage knot be tied?

THE FOURTH PART

The higher we climb on this hard ball,
The more destructive if we fall.

In our fourth part I end the clue,
But can't poetic justice do;
For married folk who act like these
Justly expect to live at ease.
No fiction in my verse I tell,
But real facts--I knew them well.

A twelvemonth pass'd, or thereabout,
And they from Loughbro' ne'er went out.
Though both were strange to every road,
Happy as those who went abroad.
For happiness, it is confess'd,
Consists in what we love the best.

We'll now to Hinckley send the Muse,
To see how surly husband does.
Repentance seiz'd him. When alone,
He damn'd himself for what he'd done.
His rattle sold in evil hour,
Because 'twas wholly in his power;
That power departed, he in vain,
Cry'd for his rattle back again.
This random temper verifies
That what we have we all despise,
And what we have not, after pant;
''Tis just the very thing we want.'
Now all her charms he saw, and more
Charms which he could not see before.

Himself examines all the streets;
Tells every passenger he meets,
And his egregious folly states
To churchwardens and magistrates.
But all adhering to one rule,
Join, with himself, to call him fool.

It happen'd on a luckless day,
When life's sweet stream had no allay,
William and Hannah careless sat,
Amus'd with inoffensive chat,
A sudden voice approach'd the room;
'The overseers of Hinckley come!'

Suppose a catchpole seiz'd a beau,
He could not be reduc'd so low.
No author, when his book's run down;
Nor miser, when he's lost a crown;
Nor you when Chancery suit miscarried;
Nor Betty when her sweet-heart married;
Nor tradesman when his banker broke;
Ever experience'd such a shock.

Two faces pale, but not with sorrow,
Were his and her's, but mark'd with horror.
'Hannah,' they said, 'must with them come;
Her husband wanted her at home.'

The stile in which these words did flow
Appear'd not to admit of no;
Nor in the least afforded rest
To the rough tumults in the breast.

William the art of speech knew well,
In elocution could excell;
And in no period, you'd allow,
Was it so needful as just now;
For who would not, to save a wife,
Speak better than in all his life;
But now his words, through agitation,
All underwent compleat stagnation.
Instead of must'ring up a trope,
They riotted within the throat;
And though he tried to drive them hence,
They still continued in suspence;
Nay, that same power which used to aid them,
Now fast within the gullet made them;
Though sorely wanted, could not use them,
For all internals were confusion.

When wind and words procur'd a vent,
He boldly drew an instrument;
'Conveyance fairly sign'd and seal'd,
By which he lovely Hannah held.
And how can this, pray, be undone,
Deliver'd free before the sun?
A bargain that can never fail;
The money paid upon the nail.
This is the title-deed which gives
Me lovely Hannah while she lives;
He, by this writing, did resign
His Hannah, and by this she 's mine.
A man may sell his own, 'tis true;
Nor can repentance sales undo.
Were he to have her back once more,
They'd say he'd made his wife a w--.
And who black scandal would abide,
Which is so easy to avoid?
Besides, there's more to think upon,
In pregnancy she's six months gone.
What stupid husband then would groan
Under a burthen not his own?'

These powerful arguments, of course,
With justice weigh, but not with force;
For he with whom a power shall go
Holds the best arguments we know;
And though sheer reasons flow in fast,
He's sure to win his cause at last.
Nay, should we argue e'er so long,
The hand will always beat the tongue.

They said, 'he might the writings hold;
They'd shew the price a wife was sold;
But that his title had a flaw;
The purchase was not good in law;
For in that place she should not fix
Though she should prove with child of six!
Might keep the writing for her sake;
But, for the freehold, they would take.'
Thus though poor WilI by far could speak best,
His arguments were far the weakest.

When conquer'd by the tongue or whip,
There's nothing left but to submit;
For William, and his purchas'd bride,
Are doom'd for ever to divide.

The lovers shock'd, with sighs and tears
Pierce every heart but overseers.
For hearts united just like these
Can never separate with ease.

The loss of her he thought was more
Than all he ever held before.
And should he e'en to old age live,
'Twas more than all the world could give.
He sorely wept, to be remov'd
From her he most sincerely lov'd;
And while the fair one could be view'd
His eye attentively pursued;
And glanc'd the way, though she's not there,
As well as able through a tear.

Poor Hannah wept, being forc'd from one
She'd firmly fix'd her heart upon.
Nor did that one the least degrade
The worthy present which she made.
Now must submit to many an oath
From one who's ign'rant of her worth.
For as in him, if we look round,
Not one good quality was found;
So he no good in her could spy
When view'd by his corrupted eye.

The winning officers were gay,
And in small triumph led the way;
She follow'd, but in anguish cried,
'O that the knot could be untied!'